Interlude
3.07pm, Monday 9th, April, 1906.
An exceptionally well crafted drawing room, London.
As Sir William Melville ushers the four gentlemen through the solid oak door, gesturing for them to sit down before the vast finely crafted mahogany desk that dominates the room, a gust of warmth rises to meet them. The room is extremely warm, heated by a roaring log fire beside the desk.
The keen mind of William Wellington remembers the rumours that the occupant of this exceptionally well crafted drawing room is quite unwell, battling on in his duty despite the most disagreeable of situations, as rightly befits such a fine gentleman.
What does not rise to meet them, however, is the imposing form of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman himself, who continues reading and shuffling through a small set of papers, occasionally letting out an appreciative grunt, sometimes a derisive snort.
After a few more minutes of this, he looks up.
“Pfah! Those bloody Germans, eh! Bloody good show chaps.”
He gets up without a trace of the ponderousness his health might suggest, making his way to the gentlemen’s side of the desk, hand outstretched.
“Campbell-Bannerman. Absolutely bloody delighted to meet you. Melville’s been keeping me up to date about your Hun-foiling exploits,” he says, pointing towards the paperwork he’s just been shifting through. “Now, I should have liked this to have been entirely a meeting for pleasure, but something unfortunate has cropped up, so I’m afraid the pleasure part will have to be curtailed, and the business part embarked upon post-haste.”
Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman returns to his seat, and flicks through a couple of documents before picking one up in particular.
“Now, I’m sorry this has to be directed at one and only one of you, but since His Majesty had a word last year I’m apparently only meant to do this based on some sort of system of merit, and that system of merit is based on how much of a gentleman you are. It’s worked for the Empire for hundreds of bloody years, so I don’t see much of a reason to change it now, eh? Right, now,” he says, looking towards von Fersen, “I presume you are our Swedish friend? Von…” and here Sir Henry looks briefly at his nearby butler, showing him the file, “How do you pronounce this, Jenkins? Von Ferrr? Fur? Von Furdygurdy?”
“Von Fersen, Sir Henry.”
“Right. Yes. I see. Von Furdygurdy. Easy once you know how, eh! Now, according to these reports Melville’s been sending me, you’re a rather bloody good gentleman spy. You’ll have to see His Majesty to get all the right paperwork done, but from now on you’re a bloody Sir. I’m bestowing a knighthood upon you, as they say. Bloody well done! Now, who’s for brandy?”
Title Acquired: Sir August von Fersen!
Author
Topic: Roll to Be a Gentleman Spy - Chapter Three Part Twenty One. (Read 74868 times)